


The Blizzard

by TheDuckofIndeed



Category: A Year Without a Santa Claus (1974)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDuckofIndeed/pseuds/TheDuckofIndeed
Summary: Where adults see only hopelessness, one little girl sees a chance to save her village from an unending blizzard.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	The Blizzard

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly not sure if anyone will even end up reading this. But I recently watched The Year Without a Santa Claus for the first time, and like everyone before me, I fell in love with the Miser Brothers. (Snowy’s my favorite, but I adore them both.)
> 
> So, naturally, the urge to write some fan fiction became too strong to resist. (You could say it became, ahem, “too much”.) Anyway, I wanted to write a little something that explores a different, ahem, colder side to Snow Miser’s personality, so without further ado...

When Ingrid left home that night, she bid her sleeping family farewell under her breath. She would have liked to give them a proper goodbye, complete with heartfelt hugs and kisses, but she knew that, at the tender age of nine, no one would have allowed her to brave the blizzard otherwise, had they even been aware that was her intention.

If she was to go through with this, she might very well never be seen again, her small form forever lost to the violent storm outside. The mere thought of her frozen body, forgotten and alone, in the wilderness sent her already thumping heart racing tenfold. But if she did nothing, the result would be the same anyway. The storm had not let up in two weeks, and if anything, it was only getting worse.

If nothing changed, her ailing mother wouldn’t last much longer.

The blizzard whipped at the child’s long, wool coat, the gale howling through pine trees standing guard around her like ineffective sentinels, cursed only to idly watch, but not influence, the young girl’s doomed journey. Darkness pressed in on her from all sides, the small glass lantern she held in one hand providing the only consistent illumination, and even its meager light was fighting a losing battle. The only other comfort came in the form of the rare glimpses of moonlight from above, which provided the occasional bearing in the storm, for otherwise up and down would have surely been as indistinguishable to her right now as reality was from dreams.

Before her passing a couple years prior, her great grandmother had sometimes told her stories of a winter spirit who lived in one of the most desolate parts of the world. Their village was so far north that people sometimes encountered him in the mountains. Most didn’t return. Some did. And it was from those fortunate few that the old stories came.

People had stopped believing in such antiquated tales ages ago. But Ingrid knew better. Her great grandmother had actually  _ spoken _ to him once, many, many years ago when she was hardly older than Ingrid’s age. The way she described him was akin to an old friend, though their meeting had been brief.

It was said that he could be as playful as the dancing of snowflakes on a calm winter morning. Or he could be as cruel and as merciless as the very blizzard she was braving right now. How many countless lives had been lost to his icy grip, Ingrid shuddered even to think about. But if there was anyone who could help her, it would most certainly be him, if she was lucky enough to find him at all.

Considering his nature, lucky wouldn’t have normally been the right word for it.

With her whole body shivering from the cold, Ingrid trudged through snow that already reached beyond the tops of her fur-lined boots. At this rate, the snow would bury her before long. With a sickening realization, it occurred to her that there was no way she could make the return journey. Right now, suspended in this endless void of cold and darkness, the possibility of ever seeing her home again felt as distant as the warmth of a crackling fireplace and the love of her family’s embrace. The mere thought was enough to send a surge of emotion coursing through her that she just barely managed to keep at bay.

She just wanted her mom to be okay.

No one had asked her to do this. No one else had thought to do anything about the storm because no one believed in anything anymore. Not the winter spirit or the magic of nature or in one small insignificant child.

She didn’t know how many hours it had been since she had left the safety of home behind. But she had followed the blizzard for as long as she could, had allowed the winds to guide her for lack of strength to fight back. Every inch of her felt numb, even her mind struggling to comprehend why she had ever thought this was a good idea. Every step became an insurmountable struggle, until…

Just like that, the wind stilled, and her breath flowed from her mouth in a shimmering fog that hung in the now stagnant air, so white in the light of her lantern that it appeared almost as a cloud of pure ice suspended before her. Darkness lifted as the flurry abated like a curtain being drawn aside, just enough for the moonlight to stream in from above, the snow glittering in the light as if coated in a million sparkling diamonds.

Any relief she had felt was short-lived when Ingrid felt an icy chill crawl down her spine as an unseen presence became known to her. The temperature dropped even further, as suddenly as if an invisible sheet had been pulled down on top of her. She dropped her lantern with a startled gasp as the glass shattered from the plummeting temperature of the air around her, the flame within flickering out instantly, as dead as the once howling tempest.

Her attention was redirected upward just in time to catch a towering form approaching through the fog, the shape of a man who stood at twice her height. The moonlight illuminated his face as he stepped out into the open, a pale, bloodless face surely akin to the countless, poor souls who had frozen to death in the snow, icicles hanging from his long, pointed nose. The worst thing about him was his eyes, frigid, black eyes that exuded not the slightest hint of compassion. Death itself would have been welcoming in comparison.

This was not at all like how her great grandmother had described him.

Ingrid was at a loss for words. Now that she had found him, the dreaded Snow Miser the old stories had spoken of with such a curious mixture of reverence and horror, her mind had grown as numb as her fingers, the hopefulness of her plan dying away.

“What are you doing all the way out here? I hope you have a good reason for bothering me.” His voice was low and without pity. Ingrid’s heart couldn’t have sunk any further if it had wanted to.

But this was her one chance. She had to make the most of it. After a second’s hesitation, she got straight to the point, her words distorted by the sound of chattering teeth. “I-I came to ask you t-to make the b-bl-lizzard stop.”

Though she imagined, for him, this would be a small request, his expression only grew more grim, and he placed both hands on his thin waist. “Did you really come all this way just to complain about the weather?”

Ingrid shook her head. “N-no, sir, i-it’s just that…”

“I’m tired of watching everyone flee to the south just because they can’t handle a little bit of cold weather. What, you really can’t be bothered to shovel a few feet of snow anymore? Heaven forbid your kind ever has to deal with even the  _ slightest  _ discomfort.” With a dismissive wave of one hand, he turned away. “Forget it, kid. I’m not in the mood for handing out favors right now.”

“Please, d-don’t go!” She started to run after him as he stalked away back into the icy fog, her voice rising in pitch, “I-I’m sure y-you don’t mean any harm...m-maybe you don’t even realize, b-but your blizzard is k-killing everyone!” Unable to keep up with his long strides, she tripped and fell face first in the snow, her breath knocked from her in the fall.

Lacking the strength to stand, she tried once more from where she remained sprawled on the ground. “P-please, you’re the o-only one who can help us! You h-have to come back! You  _ have _ to!” There was no response but the echo of her own words bouncing off the snow drifts, mocking her with the very same desperation that threatened to crush her heart in its unrelenting grip. She had come this far for nothing.  _ Nothing _ . She had risked it all, and he couldn’t even be bothered to give her a fair chance.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound her fists like she had done when she was very little. She had outgrown such behavior, but no one would even know, no one would even hear her outburst in her isolated state.

It was no use. He was gone, and she was on the verge of becoming yet another pile of snow in this icy wasteland. Unable to hold back any longer, the floodgates burst forth, and she started to sob, her tears leaving icy tracks on her cheeks and her eyelids freezing shut.

“Oh dear, now I’ve done it.”

Ingrid felt something pick her up, placing her back on her feet as something soft brushed her face. When she opened her eyes, he was kneeling before her, wiping the tears from her face with his striped, blue scarf with an almost parental level of care.

The sudden change in his demeanor was jarring, eyes formerly as dark and as hard as obsidian softening. Even at this diminished height, he still dwarfed her much smaller size, but as her heaving chest calmed and the tears ceased to flow, the smile that now adorned his frozen features was strikingly…warm.

“Look, I didn’t mean to be so harsh,” he said. “No more tears, all right, sugar plum? There, there, that’s better, isn’t it?”

It wouldn’t be better until she had accomplished what she had come here for. “Please," her words came out in a whisper, "p-please make the blizzard stop. We-we just c-can’t take it any longer. My mother...”

She trailed off. Now that she had been granted a second chance to plead her case, her muddled mind was drawing a blank. What else could she say that she hadn't already?

Just then, it occurred to her that she had come prepared with one other plan for gaining his cooperation. “I-I brought you something.”

“Oh, I see, you’re trying to bribe me, aren’t you?” he said with a chuckle. “What is it?”

She produced a thermos from within her coat and held it out, her gloved hand shaking. “Hot cocoa.”

Now that she had seen him with her own eyes, it all seemed so silly, so childish. Perhaps he felt the same, for his reaction wasn’t exactly what she had expected.

“Why on earth would you bring me something  _ hot _ ?” he asked, nearly choking on his words.

The logic had seemed perfectly sound in her mind, but she explained anyway. “I just f-figured that…y-you must be cold out here, so you c-could p-probably use something to warm you up.”

He barked out a loud laugh that nearly made Ingrid jump. “You know, you’re a funny little thing.” She retreated back a step when he returned to his full, imposing height, still chuckling to himself, one gloved hand to his cheek. “I appreciate the offer, but I think you need that more than I do, my little icicle.” He clapped his hands together. “Speaking of which, I’d better get you home before you become an  _ actual _ icicle.”

“What about the blizzard?” Ingrid asked.

“Don’t you worry your little head about that, snowflake,” he said, pulling off his scarf and gloves and putting them on her with the same meticulous care that her own mother had displayed before her illness had confined her to bed. Though oversized, the extra pair of gloves was already responsible for restoring some of the feeling to her frozen fingers, while the scarf could easily cover her entire face if she so chose. That wouldn’t be so bad, she decided, and began to make the necessary adjustments with hands that didn’t feel quite as stiff as they had moments before.

The next thing Ingrid knew, the Snow Miser had picked her up in his arms with the ease of someone carrying a small puppy. She felt just as small as she snuggled in close to his chest. Though not an ounce of warmth emanated from him, there was still something comforting about feeling someone’s arms around her once again. Soon enough, it would be her mother holding her close again.

“You know,” he began, the soft crunch of his footsteps in the snow the only other sound now that the wind had died down, “you look like someone I’ve seen before.”

“My great grandmother. Astrid. She said she met you once before…when she was my age.” For the first time in hours, her shivering had ceased.

“Oh, that’s right. That must’ve been a pretty long time ago, huh? Nice girl. Give her my regards when you see her, okay, kiddo?”

“My name’s Ingrid,” she mumbled. Now that she had been given a chance to rest, she felt decidedly tired. Heavy eyelids blinked, the only part of her face not covered by her borrowed scarf.

“What’s that?”

She pulled down on the span of scarf covering her mouth. “Ingrid.”

“Sure thing, Ingrid. Seeing as we’re now on a first-name basis, you can call me Snow, if you want.”

Ingrid couldn’t remember if she said anything else after that. She couldn’t say she ever thanked him. The next thing she recalled was waking up in her own bed, her heart hammering within her chest. Springing upright, she pressed her face against the window above her bed, the pearly moonlight igniting the pristine snowdrifts beyond with a pale luminescence. She had done it! She had really done it!

The blizzard was over, and her mother could get the medicine she needed, and…

And she couldn’t tell a soul what had happened. All she had wanted was for the storm to pass, and now that it had, an emptiness remained in her heart at the secret she was now forced to keep.

Oh, but there was one way in which she could prove that her excursion had been more than just a vivid dream. But when Ingrid reached for her neck, she realized with a start that the scarf he had loaned her was gone, as were the extra pair of gloves. Even so, her face was noticeably wet and cold. It was not so much that the borrowed articles of clothing had vanished. Rather, it was as if they had, perhaps, simply melted away like so much snow on a warm spring day.

Ingrid laid back down with a sigh, pulling the sheets over herself and curling up into a ball in an effort to warm herself as quickly as possible. As her exhausted mind lulled off to a much-needed rest, she had to wonder...even if that last shred of proof had still been in her possession, would anyone have believed her anyway?

She wasn't sure she believed herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure why, but calling him “the” Snow Miser makes him sound a bit more intimidating, y’know. At least, I think so. As funny and charming as Snow is in the movie, I just like to think about how frightening he, and Heat Miser, would truly be if they were real. They’re flippin’ immortal beings that could wipe out all life on Earth as we know it…if their constant feuding didn’t keep each other in check!
> 
> Anyway, I’ve never written for this character before, so I hope I did him justice. Oh, and I have ideas for more stories, but knowing me, finding time to write isn’t always easy. So I make no promises. But if you enjoyed this little tale, kind comments would be very much appreciated.
> 
> Snow Miser was created by Rankin/Bass, but I guess he’s property of Warner Bros now. Ingrid is my own creation.


End file.
